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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504107">return</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/midblue/pseuds/midblue'>midblue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Spirits, M/M, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:20:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/midblue/pseuds/midblue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jisung is a prince with a destiny. Renjun, the moon spirit, has other plans.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Huang Ren Jun &amp; Park Jisung, Huang Ren Jun/Park Jisung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>the rensung files</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>return</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>written for prompt #RS026</p>
</blockquote>hello my prompter &lt;3 i rewrote the premise three times, trying to find an angle to get at this story. i ended up twisting it somewhat, but hopefully in ways that don't interfere with what you wanted from it! i know nothing other than the very basics of archery, and i don't know if there's as much morality-questioning here as you wanted, but i tried my best to include both of those for you :) thank u for putting this prompt out there, because it caught my eye immediately, gripped tight and wouldn't let go!
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had heard about his kingdom before, bled into his teacher’s words.</p>
<p>“Our great, splendorous kingdom. Vast beyond our comprehension."</p>
<p>"Our beautiful land. Yours, someday."</p>
<p>It was something even his sole friend, Chenle, told him. “It’s different everywhere you look,” he’d told Jisung. “My mother took me by carriage past the biggest hills I’ve ever seen. Taller than the palace.”</p>
<p>Jisung had begged to go, as he did often. He’d begged his teacher, his mother, and once, even his father. It had made no difference. A prince belongs in the palace, eats palace food, sleeps on a pristine bed. The land is his from above and afar; no more, no less.</p>
<p><em>Still,</em> said his insatiable curious mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A mind that conjured things. He spent hot summer days under the stark shade of the palace pavilion, handed a dummy bow and arrow, and chastised till he learned. He learned to read, learned to write, learned to sit with pride. He’d lay supine on that pavilion floor, when his teacher went to fetch something, stare into the marbled patterns of the pavilion roof. In it, he saw himself, morphing from the marble veins: here he ate his favorite sweet, there he wielded a sword into battle, on foot.</p>
<p>When he had begged to learn to use the sword, he had been turned down. “That path is not for you,” said his teacher, with hard lines of an unrelenting face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He found his way to the pavilion roof one night, a challenge proposed by his playroom friend Chenle, years after they’d outgrown the playroom. He had climbed here from the side connected to the palace, windows just a couple paces above this flat expanse. He had walked nearly to the edge and found himself almost dizzy with fear; he stepped back, far enough that he could breathe a sigh of relief and sit.</p>
<p>He tried to look out, as far as he could. The night sky was not conducive to the attempt, but he squinted until he thought he saw the lights of a town beyond. The palace was protected by forest on this side; even the nearest town stood a distance away. Chenle’s mother lived there, as Chenle told him. Only palace officials like Chenle’s father could stay in palace quarters, and if they were esteemed, their children might stay too. Chenle learned with the other children, with another teacher. He had Chenle, for as long as their paths intersected, but more often than not found himself lonely.</p>
<p>Chenle could not join him, because it was curfew and the palace children lived on the other end of the palace. His thoughts circled and kept him company, and most times it was enough, but today he felt the particular sting of unwilling solitude.</p>
<p>The moon swirled above him.</p>
<p>A voice from behind him. “Your emotions run deep.”</p>
<p>His heart squeezed in terror and he swung around, blood pumping ferociously.</p>
<p>There was the spirit: a glow to the skin, silver that infused the air around him, feet that did not touch the ground. This was the spirit of his bedtime stories. And one thing he’d never heard of before in those stories.</p>
<p>Incomparably dark eyes. So dark it seemed to pull in, absorb light. The longer Jisung looked, the more his throat closed up; at first he thought it to be his own fear. It only worsened, though, forcibly clenching. Jisung couldn’t tear his gaze from the spirit’s, and the spirit’s eyes were only locked on him, unmoving, swirling and pulling.</p>
<p>Just when he thought he might choke, or never breathe again, the spirit blinked. The contact broke. Relief washed over him in the form of a deep gulp of air.</p>
<p>His arms shook, holding him up from falling completely from where he knelt. He stared down at the rooftop, every scratch and scuff.</p>
<p>“My apologies,” said the spirit, and said nothing else on the matter. Jisung chanced another glance up, but didn’t dare look directly into the spirit’s eyes again.</p>
<p>“Who are you,” he rasped.</p>
<p>The spirit tilted his head to the side, then closed his eyes and tilted his head up to the sky. “Can’t you tell?”</p>
<p>Jisung could tell. The moonlight that fell on the glowing spirit’s face solidified him, strengthened the edges of his body. Silver like the moon.</p>
<p>“I can see you from up there.” His dark eyes were fixed now on the gentle curve of the moon. “There are lots of unhappy people, but never from the palace.”</p>
<p>Jisung looked down. “I’ve never left the palace. I want to see what’s out there.”</p>
<p>“Do you,” said the spirit, and Jisung saw peripherally the head-tilt down to scrutinize him.</p>
<p>“You can look at me. That—what happened to you won’t happen again.”</p>
<p>He looked up, fully. The pitch-black irises were as intimidating as before, but the vice on his neck did not take hold, and he breathed a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>“You want to leave the palace.”</p>
<p>“No, I just—just want to see. What’s beyond here.”</p>
<p>The spirit considered him. Then held out a glowing hand. “I’ll show you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jisung had dreamed of flying perhaps thousands of times, but this was an entirely different experience.</p>
<p>Wind surged past with blurring violence. He clutched onto the inhumanly strong hand that carried him and thought he might be more terrified if he wasn’t so disoriented; they were moving too fast to see. He couldn’t see below, nor at his own eye level, so he looked up instead at the one constant, the spirit that seemed unaffected by gales, gliding surely through the sky. Then his eyes began to water. He shut them tight.</p>
<p>“Here,” said the spirit, and Jisung opened his eyes to see they had slowed enough for him to see the ground below. Dark, rolling hills as far as he could see. They were far above, but for the moment Jisung was more overwhelmed by awe than fear. He looked back where he thought they’d flown from, and could not see his home.</p>
<p>“How far away are we?”</p>
<p>“Not far,” said the spirit. Jisung suspected that meant something different to the spirit than it did to him.</p>
<p>“This is amazing.” Jisung let his legs swing, and felt the weight pull at his arm. His grip on the spirit’s hand felt clammy suddenly. He tried to distract himself. “Who owns these hills? A farmer?”</p>
<p>“You,” answered the spirit. And when Jisung looked up the spirit was once again scrutinizing him. “The palace. You are the prince, are you not?”</p>
<p>“I am,” said Jisung. The cold winds bit at his skin, seeping in deep. “Can w-we see the town?”</p>
<p>“You’re cold,” said the spirit, inscrutable eyes fixed on his chattering teeth. “Is it the wind?”</p>
<p>Meekly, he nodded.</p>
<p>Then the spirit tossed him into the air.</p>
<p>For a horrible moment he was suspended, weightless, and he used that precious time to let out an extremely undignified scream. He kept screaming right up until the spirit caught him.</p>
<p>This time he held Jisung with both arms, one under his knees and the other under his back, as if he were a blanketed infant in the palace nursery. The wind felt subdued to him now, the spirit’s body weathering the brunt of it. Jisung stayed silent, still startled, and the spirit said nothing else.</p>
<p>They picked up speed, and were off again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The spirit dropped him close to the ground, on a sizeable open space at the center of the town. The ground was uneven cobbled stone, and he marveled at his shaky footing. He picked a path along the empty shops, and the spirit followed, silent.</p>
<p>He brushed his hand along the walls, peering through window holes. The shops were uniform in size, but contained vastly different tools within. One such shop harbored a black cat with luminous green eyes. It hissed at him, and he flinched; when it did nothing further, he spent a long while gazing at the creature.</p>
<p>The spirit, after a significant time spent watching him watch the cat, spoke up.</p>
<p>“Are you unhappy in the palace? Why not leave?”</p>
<p>This effectively broke Jisung’s intent staring exchange with the cat. The cat disappeared further into the shop while he stammered, “It’s not—I’m not <em>unhappy</em> at the palace. I have—a friend, and—well it’s not bad. I was just—just curious.”</p>
<p>The spirit said nothing, just stared at him with those vortex eyes. <em>Distrust? Disappointment?</em></p>
<p>“Well,” said Jisung, unnerved, “I should probably get back.”</p>
<p>The spirit held out a hand.</p>
<p>“Actually—could we—uh,” Jisung scratched the back of his head. His cheeks felt heated despite the cold. “How you carried me last time?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He fell asleep in that swaddled-infant embrace, somehow despite the clinging windchill. And when he woke the next morning he was safely in his room, swathed in blankets on his pristine bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next time he saw the spirit, it was in the archery range.</p>
<p>His archery instructor was a lithe woman with piercing eyes. “The best of the best,” said his father when they were first introduced to one another. Her name was Park Jiyeon, and Jisung had never seen her miss a shot.</p>
<p>Even when he was younger, she was not always there to teach him. He would be helped by her other, higher-level students, or sometimes even left to his own devices. His father never seemed to mind her absences, and it filled Jisung with great irritation until he heard, much later, from Chenle: she was being sent out on dangerous, highly secretive tasks for the kingdom.</p>
<p>“If it’s so secret, why do you know about it?” he’d asked.</p>
<p>“Everyone knows she’s being sent off for something important, Jisung. But nobody knows what she’s doing; <em>that’s</em> the secret.”</p>
<p>Looking at her unreadable expression at present, in the archery field, she seemed the same as always. <em>She must be used to this life,</em> he thought, <em>disappearing and reappearing as the king commands it.</em></p>
<p>“You know what to do,” Park Jiyeon told him, without a glance in his direction. Her eyes were focused on the field. The targets were placed at different lengths, and Park Jiyeon’s eyes were—as usual—on the furthest target.</p>
<p>She notched an arrow into her precious bow. Precious in more ways than one: it had silver ends and adornments, precious jewels inlaid to glitter in the light.</p>
<p>She let the arrow fly. Perfect bullseye.</p>
<p>“You need to become consistent,” she told him, still gazing at the target. “It’s not enough to get a bullseye sometimes, or even just most of the time, for a prince. Your accuracy must be as good as mine, if not better.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never seen you get anything less than a bullseye.”</p>
<p>She held out her arrow sheath and bow to him.</p>
<p>Jisung was never particularly able with the bow and arrow, but he learned well even if it did not interest him, and had acquired a fairly good skill level in his opinion. On a good day—for both him and the weather—he could shoot almost all bullseyes. But he did not think he would ever be as good as Park Jiyeon, not even on a good day.</p>
<p>She could see him hesitate. “You’ve never seen me outside this courtyard. I’ve spent years here and perfected my technique in this archery range. It is not about bullseyes. It is adapting to where you are. And if you cannot adapt to this archery range, whether the air is boiling, or sky is raining ice—”</p>
<p>She pressed the bow and arrow sheath into his hands. “Then you will not be any use anywhere else.”</p>
<p>He gripped the bow. Slung the sheath of arrows onto his back.</p>
<p>“When the wind blows to the left, you aim farther to the right. If rain is falling down, aim higher up. You know this already. But you must think this on your own, whatever the situation, without me. Do you understand, Prince Jisung?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Jisung, “but it’s sunny today.”</p>
<p>Park Jiyeon smiled. “And you have my bow.”</p>
<p>He looked down at it. The multicolored jewels and silvery-white plating reflected blindingly under the sun.</p>
<p>“No one can use this bow the way I can. The adornments are a disturbance to them, but I’ve adapted to it. You will too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was still in the archery field, hours later. Park Jiyeon had left long before then and the sky was darkening, rendering her bow’s obstacle useless, but creating a new one in its stead. She’d known this, and told him to stay and try his hand in the dark.</p>
<p>The jewels along the bow reflected silver.</p>
<p>“That bow is mine.”</p>
<p>The spirit again. Jisung turned around.</p>
<p>He said, “It belongs to my teacher. She’s had it as long as I’ve known her. My entire life.”</p>
<p>Frowning. The spirit was frowning, but there was a wide-eyed look to him, like he couldn’t believe he’d come across the decorated bow.</p>
<p>“Look at it. The designs.”</p>
<p>Jisung did. Intricate silver-lined flowers and shining circles that indicated nothing to him.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand them.” The spirit shook his head, disbelief evident on his face. “It’s an inscription of my natural name.”</p>
<p>As confused as he was, and as much as it scared him to argue with the spirit whose eyes alone had almost killed him, Jisung couldn’t back down. A bow he’s seen, <em>known</em> all his life belonging to a spirit? “My teacher had this bow for a long time. It’s—it’s completely ordinary.”</p>
<p>The spirit scoffed. “For a human, maybe. Give it to me.”</p>
<p>“My father gifted this to Park Jiyeon before I was born,” he insisted. “I can’t—I won’t give it to you.”</p>
<p>“Gifted it,” repeated the spirit, and the glow on his skin sparked brighter; Jisung looked to the ground, and witnessed the grass underneath those glowing feet dissolve into dark powder. He shielded his eyes with a shaking hand.</p>
<p>Then the spirit took a deep breath, and dimmed. Jisung let out an involuntary breath of relief.</p>
<p>“Use it, then.” said the spirit. It was more fear than understanding that prompted Jisung to act.</p>
<p>He turned to the target. Notched the arrow, pulled the string back, and—</p>
<p>Pulled the string back, and—</p>
<p>Pulled—</p>
<p>“You won’t be able to,” came the spirit’s amused voice. “As long as I know where it is, I control it. It won’t shoot another arrow unless I say so. Is that proof enough? Now give it back.”</p>
<p>“Please!” Jisung held the bow—still frozen with the arrow notched and string pulled taut—behind his back. “Please, I can’t let you take this.”</p>
<p>The spirit stared at him. He kept going.</p>
<p>“My teacher—she’s the best archer there is, and only ever uses this bow. My father—my kingdom would punish anyone that stole it. I’ll be the one to blame. I’ll be disgraced. She won’t teach me again—and I need to be taught, I need to learn this to be a prince, I need to—”</p>
<p>“Enough,” said the spirit. Jisung found himself holding his breath.</p>
<p>“Shoot the arrow.” The spirit caught Jisung’s look—something like confusion and disbelief—and rolled his eyes. Such a startling expression that Jisung blinked, even more perplexed, but the spirit only said, “It will work this time.”</p>
<p>Jisung lifted the bow. When he placed two fingers on the string, the force holding it taut released—now his fingers held it. He squinted at his target, the nearest one, because it was dark enough that he wasn’t sure he could hit the others. The spirit’s eyes were on him, rather than the target, and his hand shook a little bit. Deep breaths. On the second one, he let the arrow fly.</p>
<p>Dead center. He would enjoy it more if he wasn’t being scrutinized by the spirit, who hadn’t even looked over at the arrow embedded in the target. Jisung turned to him. Even in the dark, those eyes seemed to pull everything in.</p>
<p>“I’ll teach you.”</p>
<p>It was probably the last thing Jisung expected him to say. It also didn’t make any sense.</p>
<p>“I’ll teach you,” said the spirit. “You will surpass your teacher. When that happens, your father will not need her. He’ll have you instead. And you will return my bow.”</p>
<p>“But—”</p>
<p>“Or I take my bow now. We go our separate ways.” There was a smug smile on the spirit’s face. “And you face your punishment.”</p>
<p>He’d been cornered.</p>
<p>“I’ll come back tomorrow night.” The spirit turned, hands behind him at the small of his back, like a palace official might. He turned his head just enough to reveal his silvery profile. “Bring the bow. I know it best.”</p>
<p>Jisung watched as he walked toward the palace, the empty pavilion overlooking the archery range with its looming pillars. The glowing figure passed behind one such pillar, and did not reappear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He spent hours in bed, when he should have been asleep, thinking how to evade the moon spirit. He thought he might call it off when his teacher was in possession of the bow—then the spirit would be forced to take it from her directly—but he had no clue when she’d return, and he’d have to meet with the spirit until then. He wasn’t sure of how fast he’d learn with a spirit teaching him, but if he somehow surpassed her before she returned, it would be too late to escape the outcome the spirit desired of him.</p>
<p>And if he did call the agreement off, the spirit might just as easily wait until she’d given it to him again, and then deliberately frame him. Just the thought of made him panic, imagining the sort of trouble he’d get in, having to face that he’d betrayed his father. He couldn’t deliberately avoid the archery range at night, either, or the spirit would surely see it as a breach of the agreement.</p>
<p>He tried to clear his mind, shake the thoughts from his head. Sleep now, think later.</p>
<p>He would just have to comply, until a better option came by. He’d just try to learn as slowly as possible…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The moon spirit,” Chenle repeated after him, and then laughed. “Is this a joke? Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”</p>
<p>“He <em>threatened </em>me, Chenle. I wouldn’t make that up.”</p>
<p>“Are you <em>sure</em>—”</p>
<p>“Yes!”</p>
<p>“What are you going to do about it?”</p>
<p>“What <em>can </em>I do about it? Unless you have an idea.”</p>
<p>“Nope,” said Chenle. Then, pushing his bowl in front of Jisung, “Hey, try this soup. It’s really good.”</p>
<p>“You don’t believe me.”</p>
<p>Chenle looked up and caught the look on his face. Held up his hands nonchalantly, placatingly. “I’ll just believe it when I see it.”</p>
<p>Jisung dropped the subject after that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Prized bow and a spare sheath of arrows in hand, he waited in the pavilion. One moment he was leaning on a gray pillar, turned to look out at the archery range; the next, he turned back, and the spirit’s glowing figure was at the center of the pavilion floor. Jisung startled with a choked yell, dropping the bow and scrambling to catch it.</p>
<p>“You scared me,” he mumbled, once he regained his balance (and bow).</p>
<p>“Let’s head out,” is all the spirit said.</p>
<p>While walking down the short hill to the range, Jisung cleared his throat. “Do you have a name?”</p>
<p>“My name?” A lengthy pause. “Renjun.”</p>
<p><em>Renjun</em>. It was a surprisingly human name. Jisung was reminded of a bedtime story his mother used to tell him, the story of the fox spirit that stole the spirit of a human, which had been sacrificed to the moon, and made it his. He wondered if the moon spirit—Renjun—was once human too.</p>
<p>“We’ll start here.” They were standing in directly across from the closest target. A straight shot. “Aim, but don’t shoot yet.” Jisung fitted the arrow to the string and drew back, and immediately Renjun reached a hand out to his elbow.</p>
<p>It was like his arm had been plunged in ice. The moon spirit’s hand had phased right through.</p>
<p>Renjun stared. So did Jisung, but mostly in confusion.</p>
<p>Then Renjun’s jaw clenched, and his hand did too, into a tight fist that came to rest at his side. “Lift your elbow.”</p>
<p>“What—what was that?”</p>
<p>Renjun looked up, at the twinkling night sky. “It doesn’t matter.”</p>
<p>Renjun only gave verbal commands from that point on. He didn’t try to touch him again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Destiny </em>was not a word Jisung particularly enjoyed. <em>Destiny</em> said Jisung could not leave the palace grounds. <em>Destiny</em> gave him the bow and arrow. And <em>destiny</em>, it seemed, had a few more cards to play.</p>
<p>Across from him was Park Jiyeon. Between them was the cool marble expanse of a table, a thin layer of black cloth over that. One hand, belonging to Park Jiyeon, rested on the table, fingers bunching the cloth.</p>
<p>They were below the soil of the palace grounds: the palace underground, that housed discussions of war, plans so secret they could not see the sun. Jisung had never been here before, and honestly had never wished to enter these chilled halls, only lit by the occasional torch; firstly because the notion of being trapped <em>below</em> the palace made him nauseous, and secondly that he had no desire to plan wars or anything of the sort. That he was here at all made him anxious. Being here with Park Jiyeon—his highest connection in the palace, excluding his father—was all the more nerve-wracking.</p>
<p>“Prince Jisung,” said Park Jiyeon. It was how she always addressed him, but this time it felt colder, distant. “You’ve been trained your whole life for this.”</p>
<p>“For what,” said Jisung, throat dry. The hand that gripped the cloth pulled away, the cloth receding with it. Underneath, grooved in the cold gray marble, painted over with careful black paint strokes, was a messy depiction.</p>
<p>Park Jiyeon was looking at him, like she’d seen this carved image a thousand times and it bored her. Jisung looked back down and tried to make sense of what he saw.</p>
<p>It was a figure, he discerned. With its arms angled, like one might hold a bow and arrow, aimed nearly vertical. And the target: a crudely carved circle. Black paint traced it to rounded perfection.</p>
<p>“Before you were born, a prophet was held captive here,” said Park Jiyeon. “This is what he drew of your future.”</p>
<p>The bow and arrow made it clear enough. This was a prince. And his target—</p>
<p>Park Jiyeon traced it. “The sun.” Now she looked at the image with something like reverence, a slight awe.</p>
<p>“I’m shooting…the sun?”</p>
<p>She nodded, slow, like she was still entranced by the grooves in the marble. But when she spoke, her voice was clear.</p>
<p>“This is your past, present, and future. This is the greatest thing you will ever do.” She looked up at him, gaze steady. Jisung felt his throat close up.</p>
<p>“This is your destiny.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t tell Chenle about it. The skepticism over his encounter with the moon spirit still burned. Chenle was a gossip, anyhow, and this was a secret. There was no one else in the palace he knew well enough, let alone trusted; he kept silent instead.</p>
<p>He thought about how his father must’ve known, but said nothing on the subject. Hadn’t even bothered showing up to reveal it to him. Even for something this important, he had no inclination to visit his son. It was a regular, returning feeling, this hollow anger; he let the thought go, as he usually did.</p>
<p>Renjun often knew his whereabouts during the day, as anything under the sky was within his field of vision even when the sun was out. He sometimes asked after a particular event in Jisung’s day—the boy he spent so much time with (Chenle), why he walked up to the palace gardener that morning (to ask how he picked thorned roses), why his archery teacher rarely showed up to teach him (secretive tasks from the king, according to Chenle). But as their lesson that night wore on, Renjun asked nothing of his whereabouts earlier, and it was then that Jisung realized the limits of his power.</p>
<p>Renjun could see nothing belowground. That marble portrait of Jisung’s future did not exist to him. He wondered—did Renjun know the sun spirit? What would he think of Jisung’s so-called <em>destiny</em>?</p>
<p>He was, right then, observing Jisung's aim. Renjun didn't ever move to adjust him, unless it was to shift the bow itself just slightly. He otherwise kept his hands firmly behind him, as if afraid to repeat the hand-phasing incident. Sometimes he even muttered under his breath, at the ground, at the sky, in the direction of the horizon, like something seriously bothered him.</p>
<p>And Renjun was still improving him—perhaps having a teacher there at all times was the difference, or maybe that Renjun's methods worked better on him—but it wasn't to a supernatural degree like Jisung had initially thought. Renjun's methods were entirely ordinary. If he didn't glow an unnatural silver, or have those intimidating dark eyes, Jisung would have thought it to be just another teacher there to supervise him.</p>
<p>At least, he certainly seemed more and more human with each lesson. He did humanlike things: he paced along the grass before Jisung came down the slope for the lesson, ruminating, even humming. Jisung sometimes stopped at the pavilion and observed this from afar, this oddly ordinary thing. Sometimes he began talking about things—something mundane, like trees or the bushes lining the palace—and would keep going on about it. Jisung didn’t mind; his mind wandered too. And if Jisung did well during the lesson, he smiled, just the way a human might; the only difference was the silvery glow that illuminated his features.</p>
<p>It was entrancing. Even without the glow it would be entrancing, is what Jisung thought. An entrancing enough smile that Jisung found himself focusing a little harder on his aim, fixing for a bullseye, just to see it again.</p>
<p>But aside from that—an ethereal smile—Renjun was startlingly normal.</p>
<p>“I sort of thought you’d be…different,” started Jisung. “I mean, as a spirit, but also as a teacher.”</p>
<p>The spirit snorted. “What did you expect?”</p>
<p>“More…magic? I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Renjun, who was standing on the ground that day, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Shook his head. “Well, there would be, if this” – he swiped his hand in the air, an imitation of the phasing incident – “hadn’t happened.”</p>
<p>Quietly, he asked, “What happened?”</p>
<p>Renjun looked to be struggling with himself. His pitch-black eyes, normally so deafeningly devoid of dimension, seemed to swirl.</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened again. “The other spirits are not…pleased with my actions. They fear I might interfere with your destiny.”</p>
<p><em>Destiny</em>. Hearing it again was like being abruptly doused in ice.</p>
<p>He blurted, “You know about my destiny.”</p>
<p>“All humans have a destiny.” Renjun said simply. But then he must have noticed the traces of unusually strong emotions on display in Jisung’s visage—dawning horror, confusion, fear even—because his own expression began to match. He took a step back, as if shocked to action. “So they’ve told you.”</p>
<p>“Do all the spirits know?” Jisung’s mind began to jump ahead of itself, in stumbling steps, walking out the consequences. He felt he might be sick. “Why—why wouldn’t they stop me? From—from— ”</p>
<p>“The spirits, as I know it, believe in a set course.” It was phrased like an outsider, a newcomer to the whims of his own kind. An observing, separate entity. “A path we must follow, to know what comes next.”</p>
<p>The spirit’s gaze was a dimensionless black again when he said, “But believe me, I would like to stop you.”</p>
<p>“But you’re helping me.” Jisung looked down at the bow, the glittering silver facets in his hand. “I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“It’s not the training that matters. That is not what I am after.” Jisung looked up, and watched the spirit train his gaze on the bow. “No ordinary bow could complete the task set out for you.”</p>
<p>The realization trickled slowly, into crevices of his mind. Why his teacher insisted he use this bow. Why the fabled moon spirit would teach a human.</p>
<p>“And you want to take it before then.”</p>
<p>“They cannot stop me from my bow, but they have other ways.” The spirit smiled, small. “But I have my ways too.”</p>
<p>“You’re using me.”</p>
<p>“The sun spirit is like a brother to me,” said the spirit. “I cannot let you harm him.”</p>
<p>“I have to.” It scared him, to say this to the spirit directly opposed to him, his destiny—but it was the undeniable truth. “Everyone expects it of me. You—you’re the only one who says otherwise.”</p>
<p>The spirit only looked at him, for a long moment. The glow of his skin was steady, bright.</p>
<p>“Tell me this, Prince Jisung,” said Renjun. “Is this what <em>you</em> want too?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was still lying awake when Park Jiyeon herself came to fetch him from his quarters. It was dark still, the halls empty. Their footsteps echoed eerily against the marble floor.</p>
<p>Park Jiyeon leads the descent to the underground. She had carried a torch the last time she’d led him there, but this time she did not; instead they were ensconced in inky darkness. Jisung could only follow by the sound of her footsteps; footsteps that led him up again, and out of the dark passageway. He blinked furiously at the influx of light.</p>
<p>It was a beautiful room. Rose-tinted glass climbed higher and higher to an astonishingly high ceiling. The ground was circular, concentric rings of stone. Green vines curled over ledges lining the glass walls, climbing up the great cylinder. A podium of stone stood on the other end.</p>
<p>He’d never seen this place before, never in all his years living there. How something so large in height could be kept hidden, he wasn’t sure.</p>
<p>Park Jiyeon crossed the concentric rings and drew the moon spirit’s bow, glittering faintly, from behind the podium. Then a sheath of arrows. He thought she’d walk back to him, but she stopped at the center of the room. Pulled an arrow from the sheath. Drew it back on the bow, aimed up at the tinted ceiling, and fired.</p>
<p>Jisung flinched in horror, as if glass shards had already rained down and hit him. But nothing of the sort occurred. Upon realizing this, he chanced a glance up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>At that spot where Park Jiyeon had aimed, arrow embedded at its center, was a target that almost blended with the tinted glass. High enough that he could not tell the material. Still, the arrow had struck it and not struck down the building.</p>
<p>Park Jiyeon held the bow out to him. He stepped out to the center of the room and grasped it. She drew an arrow from the sheath.</p>
<p>“This bow is no ordinary bow,” she said.</p>
<p>Jisung’s mouth dried. Rotely, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“This was gifted to me,” said she. A smile—smug—spread across her face. She turned the arrow in her hands over and over, twirling it. “Not by your father, but by the moon spirit himself.”</p>
<p><em>Gifted it</em>, echoed Renjun’s angered voice in Jisung’s mind. The lie crawled across his back, over his chest like fire; he was frozen, nonreacting. He didn’t know when he’d begun to believe it was truly the moon spirit’s bow, stolen, but his teacher’s remaking of the story he thought he’d known his whole life only confirmed it for him. It was the moon spirit’s bow, and it was <em>not</em> gifted, not with the way Renjun had reacted to it, not with the way Park Jiyeon twisted it now.</p>
<p>“The only object on this earth with such magical ability,” said Park Jiyeon. “With it, you’ll successfully strike the sun out of our sky.”</p>
<p>And hearing this out loud, phrased so directly—it was chilling. It sounded surreal and wrong. It didn’t seem like something he could do; it wasn’t something he even wanted to <em>try</em>.</p>
<p>Renjun was right: he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want this.</p>
<p>“It’ll be a vertical shot,” said his teacher, and looked up at the high-ceiling target. Waiting. Jisung notched the arrow, drew back and let fly.</p>
<p>Bullseye. So perfect it split Park Jiyeon’s arrow, dead center. So Renjun’s help had done something after all.</p>
<p>This was wrong, all wrong.</p>
<p>It was obvious Park Jiyeon was excited. She did not ask him to shoot again. “You’re ready,” she said instead, and led them out of that rose-tinted chamber. Down into darkness, up into the familiar castle.</p>
<p>“I must inform your father. You know where the bow belongs.”</p>
<p>The armory. It was where he retrieved the bow every night for his lessons with the moon spirit. There was a special place for it, high upon the stone wall, a mark of pride on display to any soldier that entered the place. No soldier dared to touch something so valuable; nor did Jisung, before being told to practice with it, all those weeks ago.</p>
<p>He put the sheath of arrows away there, then reached up to slide the bow onto its ledge. It was dim in that armory, but its jewels still glittered, reflected faintly off the ceiling. He looked up, at the dancing flecks, and imagined it.</p>
<p>The sun bright above, and him on the ground. The great glittering bow, a beacon with the arrow notched, up to the sky. A perfect strike. The sun, winking out of existence.</p>
<p><em>When the hunter's arrow struck home, the fox's spirit was greatly damaged,</em> went his mother's bedtime tale.</p>
<p><em>The spirit is its heart, </em>she always explained.<em> To strike the spirit is as good as death.</em></p>
<p>He could not imagine what would become of their kingdom in the absence of the sun. The people had no clue of it.</p>
<p>The dread of it pooled into his stomach, alighting his insides in something akin to panic. He would be the cause of a world in darkness.</p>
<p>The bow still glittered faintly. He reached up and grabbed it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The moon was still above, the sun preparing to rise. He didn’t dare go into the archery range, nor the pavilion—someone might spot him, as the palace began its daily activities. He made his way to the pavilion roof once again; he was hidden here, if he stood far enough from the ledge.</p>
<p>“I know you can see me,” he said to the fading moon. He turned, expectant, and there he was, just two steps away.</p>
<p>The moon spirit, breathtaking, silver-hued; Renjun, humanlike, hopeful. Jisung held out the bow to him.</p>
<p>He stared at it, uncomprehending.</p>
<p>“It’s yours.”</p>
<p>Renjun’s vortex eyes jerked up to meet his. He still did not take it. “And what about your destiny?”</p>
<p>“Forget that,” said Jisung, and meant it. “I won’t do it.”</p>
<p>Renjun smiled. Stepped forward to meet him, and touched a cool hand to his face. It was soft like gentle rain, a touch that did not phase through to the other side.</p>
<p>Jisung lifted his own hand to touch the glowing one at his cheek. His face must have shown his wonder; Renjun said, as if in response, “You’ve chosen your path. The spirits cannot interfere.”</p>
<p>They would not interfere in the coming days. The inevitable punishment he would face. He let the silvered hand slide off his face.</p>
<p>“This is goodbye, then.”</p>
<p>Renjun frowned. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“You—your work here is done. You leave with the bow, and I go back to the palace—”</p>
<p>“You think I’d leave you behind, to deal with the consequence alone?” Renjun looked stunned, dark eyes wide.</p>
<p>Jisung turned to look at the archery range. The brightening sky was just beginning to cast shadows behind the targets. “It’s what you said to me. You were here for the bow.”</p>
<p>“Not anymore,” said Renjun, and Jisung turned back to face him. “I’ve changed my mind.”</p>
<p>Held out to him was the spirit’s faintly glowing hand. He took it, wrapped his hand tight in that silver grip.</p>
<p>And they were off again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i was deliberately sparse with the information i gave in this fic, but if u are wondering anything u can ask me in the comments or on <a href="https://twitter.com/penicilliuhms">twt</a> or <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/penicilliums">cc</a>!! thank u for reading &lt;3</p>
<p>small side note that <a href="https://twitter.com/jaceclary4ever">mich</a> told me a bridal carry is called a "princess hug/carry" in chinese and so....very fitting for a prince don't you think? :^)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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